


Discipline

by micehell



Category: Blood Ties
Genre: Angst, Drama, Heart of Fire & Heart of Ice eps, M/M, Violence, implied rape of a minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-24
Updated: 2008-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:14:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could see the look, knew what was coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discipline

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't use the archive warnings for the underage, even though there's an implication that Henry was raped when young, since it's all offscreen and not ... and since Henry died at 17, he'd kind of always be underage in a weird way. ;)

He could see the look, knew what was coming. It had been years, even longer than Mendoza had lived, since it had last happened, but Henry still remembered. Still knew what to expect with that furtive, burning look.

Henry had been little more than a child then, newly squired and learning to fight, to kill, but still helpless against the other man's brawn. Helpless against being caught off-guard, alone in their camp, with little more than cloth-muffled shouts and tied hands to protect him.

Afterwards Montgomery had held him still, hands buried deep in Henry's hair, and whispered, breath hot in his ear, "It won't do you any good to tell anyone. You're nothing but a bastard, a whore under no one's protection. And don't expect your precious Father Bastion to help. He'll want nothing to do with you, not after he learns about the sin you've just committed."

Funny how hundreds of years later he still carried the sense of shame those words had put in him, that sense that _he'd_ done something wrong, even though he knew better. Some lessons were hard to learn and harder to forget.

So he wasn't surprised when Mendoza's face, twitching with internal struggle, finally stilled, eyes bright with rationalized epiphany. "You're doing something to me. Some devil's trick that works even past the Illuminacion del Sol. But I will drive it out. Burn it out. I will not let you win."

He told Henry it was to help cleanse his immortal soul, but even the torture was just prelude. Short, hard jabs of the knife, slicing deep inside him. Burns circling round his chest, his nipples, a demented foreplay. But eventually even that wasn't enough, Mendoza's breathing harsh, his pants distended with a desire that had nothing of salvation in it.

Hands shaking as he loosed the chains, Mendoza let Henry drop towards the floor, though those hands were firm enough as he spun Henry around, slamming him face first into the skewed cross. But then he paused, the twisted paths of his brain drawing his new thoughts out for long second as he pressed close behind Henry, the heat of his erection burning through the cloth that separated them. Even his words were drawn out, deliberation stretching every syllable as he decreed, "No. Not this way, not this easy, Devil's spawn"

He twisted Henry back around, pulling the chains tight again, tighter still, until Henry's muscles shook with the strain, and he was sure his shoulders would dislocate. The pull on his muscles lessened when Mendoza unchained his legs, standing between them to avoid retribution, but Henry's weight, still hanging from his wrists, was a pain so sharp it wasn't only dread of what was coming that made his breath hitch.

Mendoza's eyes were inches from his, all pupil and madness, and his words, "I will look on you, I will see your salvation, as I drive this demon out," was a hot and bitter breath against Henry's face.

When he felt those still-shaking hands at his waist, now-graceless fingers fumbling with the buttons of his jeans, Henry tried to fight, knowing it was useless, but unable to stop trying to twist away even when it made his shoulders burn like the blow torch's return. But a turn of the key left him dazed and screaming long enough for Mendoza to work Henry's pants down, to bare himself, just enough for what he needed, the zipper scraping at Henry's flesh as his legs were pressed up, knees back up along his chest.

Henry remembered seeing the look in Mendoza's eyes on another's face, remembered what it meant, but the memory of the pain still couldn't prepare him for actually feeling it again. Short, hard thrusts, Mendoza's cock stabbing through flesh too tight to take it in, another bloodletting. Henry started to scream again, but his air was cut off when Mendoza buried one hand deep in his hair -- letting the weight of his body pin Henry's legs back, letting gravity press Henry down onto him -- and pulled his head back sharply, exposing his throat, biting at it.

If he'd had the breath to speak, Henry might have made a terrible joke about all that vampire blood Mendoza used to stay alive having an impact, but as it was all he could do was wait for it to be over. Time had stretched out since Mike had put the Illuminacion del Sol on him, narrowing the world down to hunger and pain, but this seemed to stretch it out even further, over days, years, centuries, as if Mendoza had started raping him when they'd first met, as if it were Montgomery again, and this was only the culmination of his life, a bastard, a whore under no one's protection, and Mendoza's eternity stretching out forever before him.

But Mendoza's hips were stuttering with sated need, and he bit down hard on Henry's throat before his own dropped back, his face gone slack, blissful, _awed_ , like this was sacrament rather than violation. It was that more than the pain, more than the helplessness, that made Henry sick as he felt the other man's release inside of him. He'd known all along he was damned, had known it even before he chosen this life, but he'd never felt less human than he did now.

Mendoza put himself to rights, then pulled Henry's pants back up. He avoided looking at Henry directly; his actions furtive, as if by avoiding looking at the naked flesh, by covering it up, he could hide what he'd done. Henry wondered who he was hiding it from. From Henry, his body still burning and in pain? A mercy that even Mendoza's warped god would scorn. Perhaps it was from that god, all-seeing, but certainly not all-merciful, that Mendoza sought to hide, or even himself, a denial of cloth and thought.

But the denial and the cloth wouldn't be barrier enough to stop it from happening again. The man was a true believer, a truer fanatic. He'd been suppressing this side of himself with a twisted religious fervency for years. Released like this, he wouldn't be able to stay away for long. Wouldn't even try, determined to drive the demon out of Henry even as he took it further into himself.

His body still burning, the shudders that periodically twitched through him making the pain in his arms eclipse even the one in his ass, Henry took scant comfort in the fact that Mendoza wouldn't be able to rationalize forever. He might say _eternity_ , but his obsession was burning too hot, feeding on itself, to last for long. Eventually he would need to do more than burn Henry, more than fuck him.

Henry just hoped it would be soon.

::::::::::

Henry came back to himself with the taste of blood in his mouth, Vicki's voice in his ears, and memories etched behind his eyes that he'd rather not have.

"Are you okay?" Vicki was looking at him, a question in her too-perceptive, if dimming eyes that went far beyond the spoken one.

But he'd been taught, almost fourteen of Vicki's lifetimes ago, that it did no good to tell, so all he said was "I will be," and went to find Mendoza.

/story


End file.
